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Jack looked back up and sifted ashes into the dry heat. He then cast his gaze to the church across the street and noticed a BMW just sitting there parked. He could see someone sitting in the driver’s seat but couldn’t see anyone in the passenger’s seat.
Then Diane crossed his mind because she drove a BMW hatchback.
And then he wondered if the two vehicles were related?
Jack lowered his head again, dragging on his cigarette and cursing, “Fuck!” a second time. Because the last thing he needed was to explain to a man the purpose of why he was fucking his wife; an explanation he himself still did not have an answer for.
Only that he saw this gorgeous woman rudely interrupting his morning with desire and “What if’s?” despite the insult and the twenty-six grocery items.
Jack glanced up just in time to see that the BMW was actually an undercover cop car. Because it hit the Highway and sped east, full force, blue and reds dancing in the rear window. He let out an elated sigh and continued dragging on his cigarette this time looking down the direction of the other motel rooms paving the way toward the Office and saw nothing of interest except for a lone housekeeping cart, historic car décor and less than a few modern ones parked here and there in front of the rooms.
Jack took another drag of his cigarette. A second later, he heard the opening of a door and glanced in its direction.
A girl – who Jack speculated to be in her late teens wearing white shorts and a yellow tube top – walked out of the room and stepped to a black sedan parked in front. He then watched as she opened the back-passenger’s door and pulled out a car duster and began dusting the car – front to back and vice versa.
Jack put his cigarette back to his lips and looked away chuckling and shaking his head, wondering why people bought black cars in the first place – especially when they were susceptible to dust and dirt and fingerprints and heat, like a fucking magnet – then spent more time washing and dusting them instead of driving them.
Jack had owned a black car once, a truck, when he was a teen. And he only owned the damn thing because he felt – as a teenager – that it was his civic duty, his rite of passage, like a baptism or a christening, something that said you completed “teenhood” with God shuffling you along with, ‘Go forth, my Son’.
Jack looked back onto the girl and tried to find something on her that was worth staring at but all he found was an accident waiting to happen. And he assumed that the girl must’ve felt him looking at her because she glanced his way and waved him a quick ‘hello’.
Jack, to be polite, particularly for staring, returned the greeting through a casual toast of his cigarette. Then after, meant to look away. But the girl had taken a quick step forward. Then another thus forcing Jack with no other choice but to see what the intentions of the girl’s footsteps were. And when they finally reach him, he noticed that her toes were painted black and her beachy blond hair was barely starting to sprout black roots. Her aura however. . .Jack caught a whiff and realized she was definitely a mistake, particularly when she spoke with haste and giddiness.
“I’m sorry. . .but,” – and her doe-eyed brown eyes had forced her head to tilt – “were you offering me a cigarette?”
The girl stole a glance at Jack’s cigarette nestled there between his fingers. It was two drags away from reaching death. The girl also noticed that Jack was shirtless and shoeless, and she was liking his collage of tattoos.
“Mm. . .why do you ask?” Jack said keeping the conversation dry and simple. He takes the second to the last drag of his cigarette and expels smoke between their conversation. He was trying to be rude, to ward the girl off like a bad spirit. But, and according to Jack, she seemed to be missing the hint that he wasn’t interested in anything she had to say, offer or guarantee.
Because for one, Jack found she was too young to be flirting with the Devil and he knew how to be devious.
Two, he already had a conscience, and she was getting out of the bathtub right about now.
Three, he had already once lost his virginity to a girl exactly like her, and he wasn’t interested in seconds.
The girl gestured to his cigarette. “You. . .um. . .picked up your hand,” she reminded through a smile.
“That’s because I was too lazy to wave with the other.”
“Oh.” The girl sighed nervously. “So, it’s my mistake then, hmm.”
She stuck both thumbs into the back pockets of her shorts and cocked her head and crossed one leg over the other in a shy girl’s stance and gazed longingly into Jack’s eyes. Though her pussy was on fire, she felt like she was floating in the sky.
The first thing that went through Jack’s mind about this girl’s awful attempt to be invited into his room to fuck was his daughters. And it was right then and there when he made the mental note that if his daughters ever tried to pick-up on men nearly twice their age in the parking lot of a cheap motel to fuck, he was going to strip them of their their-fucking-Daddy’s-Little-Girl-crowns and disown them.
Jack shrugged his shoulders in a state of impartialness and took the last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt over the steps railing. And instead of standing up and going back to Diane, Jack remained seated and stared at the girl in the fashion – he presumed – serial rapists stared at girls with contemplation and grace as if they had never seen anything as beautiful and divine.
The girl started to blush, to flush. But as she made an attempt to speak to the man who was soaking her thong with each minute that passed, the door behind him unexpectedly opened and a woman wearing only a man’s shirt and a pair of sleek black panties and nothing more, and who she instantly envied, stepped forward and glared at her, and through what the girl believed to be “growling eyes” which said more than “Back the fuck off!”.
Jack quickly looked up. The girl took a step back. Diane then spoke, and she wasn’t friendly.
“Are you lost?”
“Uh. . .um,” the girl looked at Jack anxiously. “No. I’m staying in one of the rooms just a few doors down.” The girl gestured to her room over her shoulder.
“Well then maybe perhaps you should go back to your room and actually stay there,” Diane suggested harshly. Jack dropped his head and shook it. Because this is where he didn’t need the whole “Mistress behaving like a wife” act. He felt his jaw protrude.
“Yeah. . .um. . .” the girl started to say but her voice instead trailed off embarrassed after it became clear that all her flirting wasn’t going to get her anywhere not with a jealous woman standing in her way. So, the girl looked at Jack one last time before she quickly turned around and walked away, fast.
Diane looked down at Jack with Jack looking up at Diane and the expression that radiated off his face said all that needed to be said to her.
And before Diane could even begin to apologize, Jack stood abruptly to his feet and faced her like a head-on collision, “We need to talk. Now.”
Diane’s belly somersaulted only this time she wasn’t on the Monkey Bars back in grade school where she once fell five feet, her hands breaking her fall but not her face which had kissed the dirt.
And she hoped she wouldn’t be kissing the dirt. . .with Jack.
Not with Jack.
He was becoming an extension of her.